


Dive in Deep

by ABookAndACoffee



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Because they really should be, F/M, First Time, In which Mor and Az are mates, Light Angst, Loss of Virginity, NSFW, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 07:49:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9593333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABookAndACoffee/pseuds/ABookAndACoffee
Summary: AU - Mor and Az meet in the Illyrian camp; they have far fewer problems in the world (aka Eris or her family), they are mates, and things are allowed to progress as they might have, had she not been trying to get out of her engagement.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an anon tumblr request: "Moriel AU. Azriel and Mor first time (both of them are virgins)". I didn't intend for it to get so long, but here we are. 
> 
> Title based on the Halsey song _Haunting_

He is eating what passes for dinner when she walks into the camp, and he thinks the world might have stopped spinning. Her golden hair is in a long braid over her shoulder. She is dressed for the environment, for what goes on here, in pants and leathers, but there is something dissonant about her presence in this damp, muddy place. She is trying to act naturally, but he can tell that she has probably spent far more time in a court, with polite society, than anywhere like this. 

For a while, he enjoys observing her while she is led around by his friend, nodding and responding to Rhys’ explanations in a voice too low for him to hear. She is being shown around, introduced to some of the more important fae in the camp, and he assumes that she might be here to stay for a while, although he isn’t sure of the purpose. A High Fae female staying in, let alone visiting, an Illyrian training camp is not exactly standard operating practice. There is grace underlying the tension of her movements, and he wonders if she is here for training. He thinks she would be well-suited for it, and the image of her on a battlefield, fierce and commanding and beautiful in her strength, comes to mind.

From the comfort of the brush he has hidden himself in, he tries to figure out which court she is from. She seems to be close to Rhys, but that isn’t surprising, not if she comes from a titled family, which he suspects. He finishes his food, setting his bowl down on the ground. He doesn’t want to move from his spot, which affords him the perfect place where he can watch her without being seen. 

His hands curl into fists when he notices some of the other soldiers eyeing her. He’d be a fool to pretend he didn’t find her beautiful, but the way that some of them are watching her makes his stomach turn. Their thoughts are written plainly on their faces and he wants to challenge them right now, for this girl he doesn’t even know. He shakes his head at himself, for everything he has allowed himself to think over the last few minutes, and stands to go about his business. 

The last thing he expects is to be introduced to her. They stride up to him, Rhys and this girl, and as they approach Azriel looks around to see who else could be nearby that they could possibly want to speak with. 

“Let me introduce you,” Rhys is saying as they get within hearing range. “Azriel, this is my cousin, Morrigan. Mor is here to visit me, so she will be around for a couple of weeks. And Mor, this is Azriel. He’s a friend.” Rhys puts emphasis on the last word. Az straightens a bit at the idea that she might rely on him for anything, thinking of the way some of the males had looked at her. 

He repeats her name to himself, wanting to feel the way it moves around his mind, and later his tongue, but it’s as if her name were already there, in him, and he had only needed to hear it spoken to know – _she’s my mate_. He recoils from the thought immediately, at how he could dare think that to be true. The Cauldron would never pair them. He feels the need to atone for his audacity, even while he clings to the hope that she, too, feels the pull between them.

The words sink in further as he makes more connections. He never would have thought she’d be familiar with the Court of Nightmares, and he can’t imagine that her beauty is hiding a cruel interior. Not with the way she is looking at him now, candid and hopeful. Yes, she is out of her depth here, and she will be until she grows familiar with the way things are run, the crass talk and the physically demanding training. 

He wants to hide himself from her, but he can’t help being drawn in, can’t help imagining her needing him in any way, that he might be able to help her, serve her, at all. She watches him like he had just been watching her, only she doesn’t try to hide what she does. She takes in his dark hair, his muddy, tattered clothing, the wings that move slightly in the breeze. She has heard of shadowsingers before, but she has never seen one until today. The slight tendrils of darkness move around him, seeming to be affected by the air while having a mind of their own. She wants to reach out and touch him, test the texture of his wings, see how his shadows might react to her nearness.

He is suddenly conscious of how dirty his hair is, trying to remember the last time he was able to wash his clothing, shaking his head in a quick movement to move the hair from his forehead as she moves in closer to him. The smell of honey envelopes him, from her soap, he realizes. 

She extends her hand towards him to shake it. “Pleased to meet you, Azriel. My cousin has been telling me about you.” She smiles at him kindly, and he doesn’t know what to do with this, with her, her beauty that would blind him even if they weren’t in this dreary place. 

He takes her hand in his, returning the gesture clumsily as if he has never done it before, and cursing himself silently. When they make contact the tie between them comes into sudden relief; he hadn’t imagined it, their bond is real, if fragile right now. 

They pass the rest of the evening in conversation, the three of them with Cassian, and Az silently thanks his friends for their easy way of talking that doesn’t require much from him.

\---

The next morning when she wakes, Mor has to remind herself of where she is. There are no servants, no family; she is blissfully unencumbered. No one here knows her, where she is from, except her cousin and his friends. Cassian and Azriel. She could get used to being friends with them, and had enjoyed laughing with them around a fire until far too late the previous evening. They said things her other friends were afraid to say, didn’t pretend that humor was beneath them, and didn’t operate as if they were trying to get something from her. They had tried to make her blush with their behavior, but she had far more fun disorienting them, surprising them by returning their crude jokes with some of her own. It was liberating, and she feels lighter than she has in weeks. Months, even.

But the quiet one. Azriel. She closes her eyes again to remember what he had looked like when she approached him the day before. Beneath the dirt, the sweat, the training wounds, she had recognized something in him. _Her mate_. As soon as Rhys had said his name, she knew. She had felt something tugging her along in that camp until it had led her to him, a strange sensation that she had attributed to her nervousness at being in a new place, with new fae. She suspects that he knows as well, but as surely as she knows that, she realizes that it won’t be easy. Her family is.... particular. And she doesn’t know him yet, to know if he would want her. 

She dresses for the day silently, that act itself foreign. The leather is stiff, and she is used to having someone to help her with this. She doesn’t want anything to change, however; her plan in coming to visit Rhysand had been to escape, to learn something new, to experience something other than stifling court life. She also wants to learn ways to defend herself. As she dresses, she contemplates the next couple of weeks that she will spend here, and how she can find ways to be alone with Azriel. 

When she leaves her room, she is surprised to see him close by, waiting for her. His presence is all she is aware of; he is no larger than any other Illyrian she met the day before, but somehow he is the only thing her eyes want to focus on. She feels glad for his nearness while she tries to adjust to this new environment. He has cleaned up since the day before, and she can better see the angles of his face. Her heart begins racing slightly when she realizes how beautiful he is, how gentle his face, despite its sharpness. His eyes exude warmth, and she tries to stop herself from blushing while she contemplates the curve of his mouth, the fullness of his bottom lip.

“Good morning,” she says a little too cheerfully, and she chastises herself for being so enthusiastic. His shadows move away as she approaches, revealing more of him, though whether he is willing to be revealed or not she isn’t sure.

He nods at her, a quiet “good morning” his response. He clears his throat. “I’m here to take you to breakfast. Rhys said he has some work he needs get done, but then I can leave you there with him.” He grimaces at his own wording, as if she were a responsibility or a burden. As if he wasn’t frantically trying to figure out ways to keep her by his side longer.

“Surely you have better things to do than escort me around,” she asks playfully.

He looks taken aback. “Rhysand asked me to keep an eye out for you. But I can go, if you want,” he adds, “once I’ve shown you where you need to go.”

“No,” she says a bit too quickly, the shaking of her head causing her blonde braid to move quickly back and forth across her chest. “I mean, I was thinking, actually, that I might train a bit while I’m here.” 

He blinks. “Of course. I can get Cassian for you.” He begins to move away from her, but she grabs his arm. 

“No, I want you to train me. Please. That’s why I came. The Court of Nightmares is… the brutality is not limited to words,” she says. She pulls her hand away from him, and they both regret it.

Her smile has faded from her face and his mind returns to those males the day before, how they had been looking at her. He takes in her Illyrian fighting leathers, not used to the way they look on a female form. They are far too clean, but that won’t last long.

He nods his head once. “Yes. I’ll train you.” A grin breaks out across her face, and they leave to go find breakfast. 

\---

Over the next several days, he takes her out every morning, their routine growing comfortable. Mor looks forward to leaving her space and seeing him waiting for her. She has embraced living this way, the rigor, the energy required, the way she must rely on her own strength. This morning Azriel is giving her a break, but she insisted on coming along with him for the day.

She watches him training with another male, resting her own muscles. He had never pulled punches with her during training, but this… the way that he is sparing with this other male is all fury, intensity, and anger. She has noticed his scars, has watched him hide his hands. He devotes himself to training with a zeal that no one save Cassian can match. She shudders to think of what has instilled this in him. 

When the other male is bloody and swaying on his feet, Azriel leaves the field and stalks towards her. She stands to greet him and holds a towel out. His features immediately soften, something she never sees him do for anyone else. While she is silently thrilled that she has this effect on him, she wishes that it weren’t so rare.

“What did he do to you,” she asks. He grunts and wipes the blood from his face. “Az? What’s going on,” she persists when he won’t answer.

“He said something. About you. About me. My family.” His clipped words are an effort, she knows. She hasn’t seen him like this before, and she wonders again what he is like around others. About the kind of anger that she has only seen hints of, and its source.

She doesn’t know what to say, so she moves closer to him and takes the towel from his hands. He lets her, surprised at himself. If she knew the truth, what people really said about him, his family… A word echoes through him as she continues what he had started, wiping blood and mud and debris from him – _mate, mate, mate_. He hates it right now, that the Cauldron would dangle this in front of him, when he is so clearly unworthy, when the anger in him threatens to boil over at any time. 

As she finishes cleaning him, he closes his eyes for a moment, letting her close the space between them until they are nearly brushing against each other. She still retains something foreign about her, despite how quickly she has adapted to life in the camp. Something better than them, more hopeful, optimistic, and he hadn’t realized before what strength there is in that. 

He should be serving her, and he will, if she would let him. 

He walks away, trying to keep the shame from creeping up on him, that he would presume to think she would want him, or that the whole world wouldn’t see her as lowering herself with him. 

\---

Their contact is always initiated by her. In the following months, as he trains with Rhysand and Cassian, she comes to visit her cousin every chance she can get. After going to see Rhys, she searches out Azriel. They look at each other shyly, the most difficult part the beginning. Once she can get him to take a break from his regular training to spend time with her, their conversation is easy and she can’t help but notice the small smiles that he gives her, knowing that each of them are hard-won for their rarity. She has an easy excuse to see him, though she knows that Rhys suspects she isn’t coming just for his benefit.

In a turn of events, he has the opportunity to see her in her home. He travels with Rhysand to the Court of Nightmares, and although he has been there before, he views it differently now – this is the place where she lives, where she spends her time, around these fae, walking these hallways. He eyes it all warily, looking for any sign that something there might pose a threat.

She greets him warmly, her smile bigger than he has seen it before, her excitement evident in the way she takes his hand freely to show him her home and barely pauses for breath. He can’t help the smile that creeps up on him, watching her enjoyment.

After dinner, they go to her sitting room – a far cry from the rough conditions they are used to spending time together in. There is a fire going already, and he isn’t sure which of the plush seats or couches to choose. In the end, he picks a wooden bench, the only place in the room that will really accommodate his wings. 

She sits across from him in a plush cream-colored chair that seems to swallow her up. She is wearing a dark blue dress made of a sheer, flowing fabric, the panels revealing far more of her skin than he is used to seeing. Her hair is in its usual braid, but sparkling stars have been woven into it. He can’t help but think that she looks no more or less beautiful than he has ever seen her, whether in this clothing that surely servants have helped her into, or in mud-spattered Illyrian fighting leathers.

He looks a bit ill at ease here in her room, just the two of them. Their conversation at dinner had been easy, already familiar though they haven’t known each other for very long. Unbeknownst to her, Azriel has been keeping track of how many days they have spent with each other, and counts down the days until her next visit. Now that he is here, the balance seems upset, and he is conscious more than ever of where she comes from, who she is. 

Mor offers him a drink when he suddenly seems even more taciturn than usual, but he declines. 

“Azriel,” she says, and the way she says his name, delicately, as if she were caring for him in saying it, has him looking up at her.

“We won’t be disturbed while we’re here,” she continues, trying to reassure him that her space is his. She must keep the door to her sitting room open, for the sake of propriety, but no one will check on them. No one suspects that anything might happen between her and Azriel, a realization that she takes bitter satisfaction in.

He swallows and folds his hands in his lap. “Ok. That’s good. I mean, unless you wanted someone else to join us, that would be fine.” 

She shakes her head at him. “No, I don’t want anyone else here. Just us.” They have spent time together before, without Rhys or Cassian, but there is an intimacy to being in her room that has him feeling more than a little bit awkward. They can both feel the bond between them, strengthening with every moment they spend together. Azriel checks it frequently, reassuring himself that it is there. Mor feels like she could take it in her hands, use it to guide him to her.

She nods her head towards his hands. 

“Can you tell me about that,” she asks gently. She has wanted to know where to target her anger since she met him. He can’t escape her questions now, and she does something she has been wanting to try for a while – she sends a wave of reassurance down the bond. 

She is surprised when he responds, but she doesn’t know whether to attribute it to what she has done, or something else.

“My family,” he says shortly. He wraps his hands around each other, trying to hide them from her. He doesn’t need to say anything else. She understands, perhaps better than he knows, what families are capable of doing to those they should love, or even those they claim to love.

Without a word, she stands and moves to sit next to him on the wooden bench. He watches her warily, not sure why she would want to be closer, what she would need to say next to him that she couldn’t say from across the room.

She reaches down into his lap, taking the hand closest to her. He stiffens when she touches it, afraid, the scars still fresh and painful. She places one hand beneath his, cradling the scars on the back, while her other hand rests above it. Their palms touch, fingers aligning where they can, but his heavy, calloused hands still manage to engulf hers. She runs her fingertips over his palm, feeling the cracks and grooves, before resting her own palm against his again, feeling the warmth shared between them.

Before this moment, the most intimate contact they had had was limited to chaste kisses on the cheek, Mor holding his shoulders and brushing her lips across his skin lightly in greeting or parting. He hadn’t been sure where to place his hands, awkwardly leaving them on her waist as she moved in closer to him. He had wanted to wrap his arms around her, pull her in closer, bury his face in her neck. He never did.

“Azriel. I know you are my mate. And I know that you know. I want you. I love you.” She nearly whispers the words, looking down at their hands. 

Hearing her say the word – _mate_ – unleashes something in him. If she knows, if she accepts, if she can freely hold his hand in her own… He lets his fingers become entwined with hers, holding her hand with more confidence. 

He looks up at her, running his free hand down her face. “I love you, Mor.” 

She looks up at him, her own fingers gripping his hand in turn, and then rests her head on his shoulder. 

They spend the rest of that evening in comfortable silence, getting used to the feel of each other's bodies.

\---

The last night of his visit to the Court of Nightmares is spent as they have spent every other evening before; they have dinner with Rhysand, his family, her family, and then leave the dining room together quietly.

They had slowly grown bolder over the course of their time in her room, twining fingers being joined by her legs thrown over his lap, lips brushing together softly, his hands tangling in her hair while she stroked the muscles of his arms, a hand caressing her bare ankle, her hands running over his chest. They were hesitant, but gradually, each of these small liberties grew more intimate.

This evening, instead of stopping in her sitting room, she takes his hand – a small liberty which she already takes for granted – and leads him into her bedroom. He slows as she walks through the threshold, not sure of what she is planning. 

“Mor, shouldn’t we stay in here?” He gestures to the room that he has already come to see as a refuge, even though it isn’t his. 

She tilts her head at him. “Trust me.” She continues to lead him into her bedroom, where a fire has been started. He looks around – this room is larger than the one preceding it, and he is glad to see that it is messy; her clothes are strewn about, bits of lace laying over the backs of chair, her hair brush thrown on a table, a stack of books on the nightstand instead of the already over-crowded bookshelf. He is surprised at how much more he can learn about her in this space, but his contemplation is cut short when she shuts the door behind them. 

She pulls him down to her to press a warm kiss against his lips, the fabric of her golden dress makes a rustling sound as their bodies connect. He becomes greedy, pushing his tongue past her lips, and she moans as he reaches down to lift her up. She wraps her legs around his waist and is suddenly looking down at him, his strong arms holding her aloft. She buries her fingers in his hair as she moves in to kiss him again, this time with as much hunger and greed as he had shown. Her heart is pounding as she savors the softness of his lips, the warmth of his mouth, the feeling of his tongue on hers. 

She breaks away for breath a moment later, but he wastes no time and immediately moves his mouth to her jaw, kissing a path along it until he reaches her ear, placing a kiss underneath it before he moves to her neck. She gasps when he begins to kiss and suck at the sensitive skin he finds there, his name escaping her and sounding like a cross between a plea and a prayer. He has never touched her there, let alone with his lips, and she marvels in the discovery of the pleasure it brings her. Warmth is growing in her core, between her legs, and she realizes that any moment now he will be able to scent the effect he is having on her. She thinks she could spend an eternity like this, wrapped in each other, his mouth on her.

“Az… put me down… on the bed… please.” She doesn’t want him to stop, but she knows how she wants this to end, and it isn’t while he is standing, holding her in the middle of her bedroom.

He pauses momentarily, looking up at her face. Her mouth is slightly open, her breath coming in quick pants, and the hunger in her eyes has all the things he has imagined by himself at night rushing back to him. She can feel his want through the bond – he is sending it to her unconsciously, neither of them sure how this is supposed to work, how to control it. 

“Are you sure,” he asks, knowing where that might lead. 

She nods and grasps his face again, kissing him desperately. He walks with her to the bed, laying her down gently, painfully aware that her skirt of her dress has fallen to her hips, revealing her long, smooth legs to him for the first time. He can’t resist reaching down to run a palm along her calf and up her thigh, stopping when he reaches her hip. He presses her leg against his side and leans down to kiss her again, content to feel her underneath him, while knowing that she wants more than that. 

Her fingers move between them, slowly unfastening the buttons on his shirt. Her fingers are clumsy and she has to break their kiss so that she can look down at what she is doing. Her heart is pounding, and for a moment she refuses to look him in the eye. 

“Mor,” he says quietly. He presses a kiss to her brow while she works. “We can just lay here, if you want.” He kisses a cheek. “We don’t have to do this.” He finally kisses her on the lips when she looks back up at him, softly, and their eyes remain open this time, looking into each other. 

“Azriel,” she starts, hesitating. “I’ve never… I’ve never done this. I’ve never been with anyone before. But I want you. I want to be with you.” Her voice is catching in her throat, the enormity of what she is saying resting between them until he responds.

He looks down at her reverently, still trying to understand how he came to be in this place, with Morrigan beneath him, asking him to make love to her. Since he had seen her that first time months ago he had imagined a million scenarios in which she would say these words, or something like them, and he would feel ashamed at himself for his wanting. The only thing keeping any hope alive was the way that their bond strengthened as they grew to know each other, the way she continued to seek him out every time she visited. 

“I’ve never done this before either. But I love you, Mor. And I want you.” 

She grabs the collar of his now-open shirt, pulling him towards her and kissing him with renewed energy. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she begins to undress herself until Azriel stops her. He sits up to take his shirt off, and her hands seem to have mind of their own as they reach up to feel the muscles of his torso underneath the scarred skin. Reaching down, he unties the laces that run down the bodice of her dress until she can wiggle free of it, lifting herself up so she can push it down to her waist. He watches as she removes the lace around her breasts and throws it to the side, his breath taken from him. 

Suddenly aware that she is nearly naked in front of him, she reaches up to cover herself, but he leans his weight back over her, pressing her down into the bed and covering her body with his own. He focuses his attention on her mouth until she relaxes again. Cautiously, he reaches one hand up her waist to cup her breast, and she groans into his mouth when his rough hands brush her. Looking down, he watches her nipple harden as he runs his thumb over it. Her skin is nearly spotless and he wants to taste all of it, all at once, but he isn’t sure where to begin.

Unable to help himself, he presses his hips into her, and she feels him hard against her for the first time. Reaching down for him, Mor runs her hands along the front of his pants, her hands shaking as she does so. She only gets a hint of what is waiting for her, and her heart is pounding equally in anticipation and fear.

“Az, take your pants off,” she commands, and she is surprised to hear herself sounding more confident than she feels. He obeys her, and while he removes the rest of his clothing she takes the opportunity to push her dress down her hips, taking her underwear with it. When they come back together they are bare, and they take a moment to appreciate the skin they have never seen, never touched. 

He is shaking with his want, his need to feel and taste all of her, all at once. He takes a deep breath in, not wanting his intensity to startle her, but wanting to show her how grateful he is that she is his, that she is his mate. His weight is still hovering over her, his cock resting on her stomach, and he swallows loudly, trying to keep himself from taking her too quickly. Looking down at her, his fingers begin to tremble more violently. That this would happen, and with her, that she would want him, when she could have anyone… he resists the urge to ask her if this is real.

Mor savors the feel of him over her, reaching down to stroke him for the first time. He is enormous in her palm, and she wraps her hand around his cock. Watching his face, she runs her hands along him, her thumb tracing a pattern over the head, and she smiles as she discovers how he likes to be touched. With anyone else, she might be terrified. With anyone else, she might be worried, hesitant. In Azriel’s arms, she feels safer than anywhere else in the world. 

His shadows have retreated, leaving them truly alone. She takes in the sight of him above her, his wings cocooned around them. She reaches up, brushing the membrane of his wing with the palm of her hand and he growls, grabbing her wrist. She gives him a look of surprise, not knowing what she did wrong, what she should do now, concerned that he will stop her entirely. 

“Those are very sensitive, Mor,” he manages to say. She understands now what she had done, and another smile crosses her face. He responds by kissing her deeply, taking her by surprise. Another time, then, she will see what else she can do with his beautiful wings. 

“I want to touch you, Mor,” he whispers into her ear, and she nods her head, biting her lip.

He reaches down, his fingers skimming over her stomach and hips before slipping between her legs and into her folds. She gasps, her back arching and pressing her breasts into him, and he moves easily in the wetness that he finds there, pleased that she is so ready for him, confirming what he had scented earlier. He explores her, testing out how she reacts to him depending on how and where he moves, her slickness easing the roaming of his fingers. He takes her between his fingers, rubbing circles and running his fingers through her, watching her face as he learns how she wants to be touched. She is grasping his shoulders as if it can steady her, as if she might lose herself entirely in his touch, while she writhes on her back. 

When he slides one finger inside of her, she bites his shoulder without thinking. He growls in approval and begins moving inside of her, adding another finger until she is gasping. While he moves his fingers in and out of her he presses his thumb to her clit, remembering how her face had looked when he had done that before, and she lets out a long, low moan. When she comes, it is with his name on her lips, and he is already looking forward to when she will say it like that again. She is flushed and perfect, her blonde hair a mess beneath her, and he knows that he will spend every moment he can worshipping her like this, making her come over and over again. 

She has come before – they both have – but Azriel hovering over her, watching her enjoyment, makes her feel vulnerable in a way that she knows can only happen with him. Having his fingers inside of her, being naked beneath him, and coming in front of him are enough to overwhelm her senses. But she knows he is leaving, and she wants him to experience the same pleasure, to take that final step with her. 

She is barely coming down from her high when she is grasping for him, wanting to feel his cock inside of her. “Please, Az,” she whimpers, her hips shifting beneath him, and the look in his eyes causes a new wave of heat to rush through her.

He shifts and then he is paused at her entrance, feeling her need shouting at him through the bond. He wants desperately to take her, while knowing he needs to be cautious. He reminds himself again of what she had said – that she loves him, wants him, that they are mates – and it is nearly enough to overwhelm him. He can’t let it overwhelm her. 

He enters her slowly, watching her face as he moves. She makes a small sound of distress as he moves deeper into her, and he pauses. “Are you ok? Is this ok?” He is terrified of hurting her, and isn’t sure what to do to make this better for her. 

She nods without saying anything, and moves her hands to his shoulders, pushing him onto his back so that she can straddle him. He adjusts his wings so she can find whatever position she needs, and she takes his cock into her hand, positioning her hips over his. Lowering herself down slowly, letting him fill her an inch at a time, she closes her eyes at the twinge of pain that laces her pleasure. 

When she is seated on him, when he is sheathed fully inside of her, she pauses, giving herself a moment to adjust. He fills her in a way her imagination never could have done justice, and she reminds herself that he is her mate, and she thanks the Cauldron that her first time is with him, with someone who would never treat her with anything less than adoration. She shakes off the memory of advances she has experienced recently, since her incipient adulthood had begun to make itself apparent.

Azriel looks up at her, at his mate, at this woman he knows he will treat as nothing less than a goddess, this woman he would die for. He is waiting for her, but he can only hold on for so long.

“Mor,” Azriel says, trying to keep himself from thrusting up into her while taking in the sight of her on him, her hips fitting over his. She nods her head slightly, rolling her hips as she is finally able to accommodate him entirely inside of her. She begins to rock on him, moving him in and out of her, and he grasps her hips, moaning and throwing his own head back.

He looks back up at her, and he reminds himself again of how much he loves her, how much she loves him, that they are _mates_. The word has a resounding security, that she is his to protect and worship, his to watch as she grows stronger and comes into her own power. He watches her as she rides him slowly, and he finally pushes his hips up into her, prompting a gasp. There is no part of her that he doesn’t want to touch right now as she glows in the light of the fire.

She braces herself on his chest as she increases her pace, and she grabs his hand to place it between her legs. She looks him in the eye, giving him the command that he is all too happy to follow. She has quickly grown accustomed to this, the pain and discomfort fading away as her desire takes over and she becomes used to the feeling of him inside of her. 

“You’re my mate,” he gasps out, thrusting into her with more insistence, his fingers moving between them to help her come once more. They become a blur of movement, his eyes going from her hair to her breasts to her legs as she moves on him, his fingers touching her deftly as if he has already memorized what she needs, and when she comes again she grabs his hands to place them on her breasts, a breathy _yes_ escaping her lips. 

They ride the waves of their orgasm together and Azriel spills himself into her, into his mate. When they have both reached the end she collapses onto his chest, his breath moving her up and down. He wraps his arms around her, and they whisper to each other as their hearts begin to find their usual rhythm. Finally, she moves to the side, letting him slip out of her with a small amount of regret. 

“I need to clean up,” she says, and she stands to go to her bathing room. He watches her walk away, her naked backside something he is just now able to admire, and thinks of running his hands along her back, of how he will taste that skin later.

When she returns, she rests on her side, placing her back to him. He takes the invitation and wraps his arms around her, pressing against her back and placing one of his legs in between hers. Grabbing the end of the blanket, he throws it over both of them, cocooning them both in security and obscurity. He kisses the back of her neck, breathing in her scent, knowing that this is now what home smells like. 

“How are you,” he asks.

“Sore. Happy.” She turns back towards him as much as she can, smiling at him while she strokes his cheek once. “I’ll start taking the tonic tomorrow. I’m not ready for that, and I know you aren’t either.” 

He kisses her shoulder in response and acquiescence. “I don’t think I should stay here, Mor, in your room,” he starts. “If someone were to find me…” He doesn’t want to say these things, but there is no avoiding him. 

Slowly, Mor sits up and turns to him. Unexpectedly, she has a smile on her face. He gives her a quizzical look until she reaches behind her back and produces an apple. Nothing else needs to pass between them, and he takes it immediately, biting into it while keeping his eyes on her. She smiles at him, throws the apple across the room, and nestles back into him, shimmying until his chest is enveloping her back. He strokes up and down her arm, breathing in her scent again, and they both feel the bond between them solidify, turn into something real and undeniable, something that others won’t be able to question. 

As they fall asleep they cling to each other, safe in the knowledge that they cannot be torn apart, that whatever doubts either of them have, whatever challenges they might face in his family or hers, they will no longer face alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment! And come join me on [tumblr](http://abookandacoffee.tumblr.com/)! I'm open to requests, although super picky and limited on time.


End file.
